


Eye Contact

by CaesarVulpes



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Emetophobia, Forced Eye Contact, Gen, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, somebody please help Agent Washington
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-05
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:43:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarVulpes/pseuds/CaesarVulpes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Look at me, Agent Washington."<br/>Washington has issues with eye contact and Locus considers it a weakness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eye Contact

**Author's Note:**

> Based on someone's tags on this picture http://thetruecaesar.tumblr.com/image/99385684280

“Look at me, Agent Washington.”

”Stop—Stop it.”

His voice breaks and he hates himself for it.

”You can’t, can you? How disappointing.”

”Shut up. I already told you to leave me alone.”

Locus takes another step forward, Wash another step back.

And then there’s a rough, gloved hand at his jaw. He flinches, grabs at his hand with shaking fingers, and Locus’ grip on his face tightens painfully.

”Look at me.”

”Let go—”

” _Look at me_.”

Wash lashes out, tries for his instep, for his knee, even tries a poorly-planned punch, but Locus catches it easily and shoves him back into the wall so hard it almost knocks the wind out of him.

”G-et off.” He can’t even begin to keep the tremor from his voice, nor his breathing under control as his heart starts to pound wildly. His stomach churns and his chest feels too tight to breathe and his arms are shaking too much to push him away, he can barely keep them braced against Locus’ chest.

Locus makes an irritated sound and forces his head back far enough that he has to bend his knees and then grab his wrist to keep from falling. Locus bears down on him with cold determination and thinly veiled disgust in his voice, and his calm is more frightening than anger. Wash knows that kind of calm, the serenity that comes from the knowledge that there are all manner of ways to get what he wants and the willingness to use them all.

”Look at me.”

It’s fear that makes him do it, and the knowledge that Locus won’t let up until he does, and the memory of being poked and prodded and crowded until his mind was more ruined than Epsilon ever managed on his own. More of this and he’ll be breaking and he can’t afford to do that.

He barely keeps himself from shuddering as his eyes meet Locus’. His eyes are green, and so close that he can see the faint outline of his own pathetic face in them. Cold sweat breaks over his forehead and he can’t keep the shivers down, can barely keep himself from coming apart. There’s disgust in those eyes, he can feel them reading him, staring back into the recesses of his mind.

And then it’s over and Locus drops him. He falls to his knees, wraps his shaking arms around himself and gasps for air, barely manages to lurch to the side to keep himself from hitting Locus’ feet as he vomits.

”Pathetic.”


End file.
